


Chaos wins and I can't get over it

by crookedspoon



Series: Wedding Blues [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Introspection, Kinktober 2018, M/M, POV Dick Grayson, PWP, Painful Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Wedding Porn, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 22:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16146686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: "I'm here if you want to not be fine," he says, slowly becoming aware of how close they are and how inappropriately his hand is placed. Yet he can't pull it away or else he would draw attention to it. Bruce may be reading a different motive into it than Dick is conscious of having, but if he draws it back now, he'll give himself away.





	Chaos wins and I can't get over it

**Author's Note:**

> For Day #1 "Deepthroating" at Kinktober 2018.
> 
> Takes place after the wedding issue (obvs) and Batman #54. I've had this idea since I read the issue a week after it came out, but it has been a major pain to write, blocking me at every turn. Maybe that ought to be my cue to give up writing porn entirely. (Hah, good one!)

Dick feels guilty. He feels like it's all his fault. Like he had wished for this to happen by not being enthusiastic enough about the wedding. By not being _genuine_ enough about his good wishes. By harboring some secret bitterness of his own.

He feels bad for Bruce, he really does. Nobody should have to go through that, especially not Bruce, not on top of everything else. He deserves a piece of happiness. He deserves all the good things life has to offer.

And Dick, God forgive him, wants to offer himself.

At this point, he no longer knows if _he's_ good, or even good enough, but he wants to make it up to Bruce, wants to make him feel better, to lessen the pain he feels, in any way he can.

Crime-fighting helps, it's what has always helped, it's why Bruce started this in the first place. Because it helps. Because it combats not only crime, as you'd imagine, but the feeling of helplessness, of powerlessness, of not being able to change anything.

It's a way of taking back control.

So they revert to dynamics they've put aside but never forgotten. There was a time when Dick chafed at being the sidekick, but that was then. He has proved himself many times over, as an independent crime fighter and a capable leader in his own right. So there's no harm in teaming up again. Batman can't demote him anymore.

Teaming up is fun, in fact. He's missed Bruce, he's missed working together with him and cracking jokes that would bounce off his broody silences. The puns are always there, at the tip of his tongue, and he can't help but spew them, especially if it annoys Bruce. If it annoys him, it gets him out of his head, and if he's out of his head, he won't brood so much over the reasons Selina might have had for leaving him.

But he also cracks jokes to stop himself from making any dumb moves. It's easier to be around Bruce when he's clowning around. Safer. As long as the puns and the chatter serve as a barrier between him and Bruce, he won't be tempted to hug him again, or worse. 

He recovered quickly that one time he did hug Bruce, but it was painful to pretend it was all just a platonic act and more about what Bruce needed than what Dick wanted. It was painful to not kiss him. Painful to feel so conflicted about it.

He doesn't want to be selfish at a time like this, when Bruce is vulnerable and dealing with having been left by a person he loved, a person he's chosen to spend the rest of his life with. Dick can hardly imagine that pain. Sure, he's had bad breakups that put him in the wrong place for weeks afterward, but there had always been closure. 

Bruce doesn't have that. He doesn't know why Selina left. 

And Dick... Dick is torn between wanting to be there for his friend and wanting to come clean about his feelings, now that the opportunity had presented itself to him. Which would be callous and opportunistic and not at all helpful to Bruce. It would just strain their relationship more than it had already been at times.

Still, a tiny, hopeful, yearning part of him wouldn't mind being a rebound if it helped Bruce at all.

Which is why he makes the mistake of touching Bruce's thigh when he is kneeling in front of him in the Batcave and they both have their guard down.

"I'm here if you want to not be fine," he says, slowly becoming aware of how close they are and how inappropriately his hand is placed. Yet he can't pull it away or else he would draw attention to it. Bruce may be reading a different motive into it than Dick is conscious of having, but if he draws it back now, he'll give himself away. Dick's mask doesn't hide his feelings as well as Batman's does. With B, all you have to go on are the tightening muscles in his jaw and the hard lines of his mouth.

He grips B's arm guards tighter so he wouldn't give in to the temptation of climbing into his lap.

But it's too late. Dick is compromised. He shouldn't have started thinking about B's mouth.

"Bruce, I—" he begins, with no clear idea of what to say or do to break the tension. "I want to..."

His hand slips higher on his thighs, no more than an inch at most, but Bruce must have caught his drift. His mouth opens, but he doesn't say anything.

"Let me help," Dick whispers.

He would have expected protests, anger, maybe even disgust, but Bruce doesn't stop Dick. This tells him all he needs to know about Bruce's emotional state.

It should have told him more about his own that he doesn't stop himself right there. That he can't suppress his own desires anymore in favor of doing what's right. That he doesn't care about what tomorrow brings as long as he could do something about the ache in his heart. And hopefully Bruce's, too.

Dick's hands are trembling as he frees B's cock from his armor. His heart is pounding. Desire wars with trepidation. Dick has shown his cards, but Bruce might still decide he no longer wants to play.

That is, until Dick kisses the tip of Bruce's cock and all bets are off.

Dick can hardly believe this is happening. He has been getting off to fantasies of this, of stolen moments on rooftops or in the Batmobile, but that was all they were: fantasies.

Until now.

Dick simultaneously wants to take his time, savor the experience, and to take Bruce as deep as he could. There would never be another moment as this and he wants to draw it out for as long as possible, but he also doesn't want to go so slow that Bruce would reconsider the situation.

Dick gently strokes Bruce – he's still wearing gloves and has to be careful – as he sucks the head into his mouth. His own cock pulses in response to Bruce's swelling hardness.

He thinks he could do this for the rest of eternity – and thinks it again, more decisively this time, when Bruce groans softly, appreciatively. Dick's whole body is on fire, every nerve primed for touch. And so, when Bruce's gauntlet brushes Dick's hair above his temple, a full-blown shudder grips his spine.

Perhaps it is the dread of anticipating Bruce to push him off after all. Perhaps it's years spent yearning that are now to a head. Dick falters for a moment. This can't end yet.

Bruce's hand comes to rest on the back of Dick's neck and does nothing more than display that same careful tension that is thrumming through the rest of his body. It's as much encouragement as Dick would get. He nearly melts in relief.

With a helpless moan, he takes B deeper, reveling in the soft feel of his skin around his hot, hard length, the raised veins that stand so clearly against his lips, even the salty taste that tickles the back of his throat.

Blindly, and somewhat clumsily, Dick takes off his gloves as he bobs his head up and down. He's beginning to feel playful as he drags his lips down the now slippery skin and sucks kisses to the base.

Bruce's heavy breathing makes Dick's balls ache. How often had he heard the same sound as Robin, when Batman threw himself over him as a shield and protected him from falling debris or a hail of bullets. And how often in later years had he imagined Bruce's weight on top of him, but in a different, more indecent context.

Dick needs to get out of his uniform. He needs to touch himself. But he also needs to make Bruce forget about his pain for at least a little while. He couldn't lose sight of that just because his arousal is interfering with his ability to multitask. He could take care of himself later.

No need to get ahead of himself when he's perfect right here, right this moment.

Dick resumes blowing Bruce with renewed enthusiasm. He is panting now, licking Bruce's cock like a popsicle, then sucking it back into his mouth and taking him as deep as he can. Bruce grunts when his glans slips past the tight ring of muscles of Dick's throat, and his hand tightens on Dick's shoulder.

A thrill runs through Dick. He would have sighed with pleasure had he been able to. Still, his body runs through the motion of relaxing even without the accompanying sound. Dick finds himself sinking further.

He feels full in the best possible way. His skin is a spiderweb of lightning and thunder, and every twitch of Bruce's fingers at his nape sends another drumroll of sensations barreling through him, dull and sharp all at once, overpowering like ozone.

He pulls off, gasping in air as if breaking surface. His breath is rivaling his rapid-tap heartbeat in speed and strength. It almost drowns out Bruce's strained breathing, the sound of which makes Dick lightheaded. He feels giddy. He feels _amazing._ He feels like the night stretches on forever and every possibility is in the palm of his hand.

It's powerful, this feeling. It makes this moment and the ones leading up to it seem okay, fated even, like he doesn't have to worry about after, about tomorrow and the days following, how to face Bruce then, knowing what they've done and how they can never go back without altering history in the process.

As Dick goes down on Bruce again, he's convinced that it must be okay. How could it not be okay when Bruce feels this good inside his mouth, when Bruce's hips are grinding into him with the tiniest of motions, when his fingers are not only playing with the hair at Dick's nape but actively restraining themselves from pressing into the back of Dick's skull?

Receiving this much participation alone from Bruce is bliss beyond measure. It makes him want to step up his game, give Bruce even more than he already has. Make it worth losing their friendship over.

So Dick pushes himself, like he always does, trying to please Bruce in every possible. Like he always does. 

He shuts down his thinking by fucking his throat on Bruce's cock over and over, letting it push in, then pulling it back out. Dick is so hard it hurts. He distantly remembers his earlier attempts at clumsily undoing the catches of his uniform, which he never got around to, or else he would probably have jacked himself to completion already. Maybe it wasn't all bad that he hasn't, as he might have neglected Bruce in the process, but the need to touch himself was growing ever more pressing.

Dick is getting ready to do just that and opens his throat to accommodate Bruce as best he could and hold him there while he works on freeing himself.

He has almost managed to roll the tight fabric down his thighs, concentrating on reaching his nose toward Bruce's skin, when a weight at the back of his head helps him the rest of the way there.

Dick's cock _jumps_ at that. He shudders, hotter than he's ever been in his life.

Bruce keeps him there, gagging and drooling around his cock, while trying to push himself deeper. Dick's blood is pounding in his ears, but he can still hear Bruce's grunts clearly. They're becoming louder, more distinct, and Dick nearly swoons from the pleasure of knowing this is affecting Bruce almost as much as it's affecting him.

Not that he isn't about to swoon anyway. They both know that Dick can hold his breath for as long as any Olympic swimmer, but even he needs air eventually. He's loathe to interrupt Bruce as he's beginning to feel himself, but he'll only need a moment to recover.

He taps Bruce's thigh when simply pushing back against his hand wasn't an obvious enough clue. Spots are dancing across his vision, his body is shaking and his lungs burning with the need for air. It takes a moment for Bruce to translate the signal before he lets him go.

Dick gasps and the sweetness of air rushing back into him nearly knocks him over. He clings to Bruce's calves, panting and woozy and determined to do it again. 

Dick is mesmerized by the wet sheen of Bruce's cock in the artificial light of the cave. A thick rope of spit connects it to Dick's bruised lips. He must look a mess, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that he wants Bruce, that he wants his cock and that Bruce is letting him have it.

Breathing heavily through his nose, Dick wraps his lips around it again and the quick pulse he feels thrumming inside his mouth turns him on like nothing else. He sucks Bruce down greedily, free of skill and technique, no longer capable of offering anything but the whole of himself.

Perhaps Bruce noticed, perhaps he was taken by it, perhaps he wasn't. But when Dick wants to swallow Bruce's cock again, Bruce stops him with a thumb on Dick's cheek and fingers curling beneath his chin. It's a gentle enough gesture that Dick is sure he felt _something._

He gazes up at Bruce, who is a blurry shape in front of him. Dick can't make out his features – the mouth Dick had dreamed of kissing since he'd worn pixie boots, the lines around it that communicate his displeasure, the muscles in his chiseled jaw that revealed his restraint – all of them invisible to him.

Bruce threads his fingers through Dick's hair and Dick shudders as pins and needles explode across his skin. He strains upward, towards Bruce, lips tingling and hopeful.

Perhaps it was best that he couldn't focus on his face or it might have discouraged him. Bruce's expressions have that effect on him even if he's learned to go on in spite of them.

The hand on the back of his head, however, is not discouraging. In fact, it seems as though it were guiding Dick onward and upward. Dick follows the cue and slides one knee onto Bruce's chair for leverage. It's awkward but quicker than climbing into his lap. Dick does not want to wait a moment longer to feel those lips on his.

It's magnetism, the force pulling him toward Bruce. There's nothing he could have done to stop this from happening. That chance has long passed.

When they do finally kiss, it's not sweet and it's not innocent. He may have imagined it differently once upon a time, more hesitant and shy perhaps, when he's had the luxury of telling himself that his feelings were just a phase, that it was just hormones that made him want this, nothing lasting.

No, their kiss is not infused with the guilt Dick has been harboring about his attraction toward Bruce, and thereby toned down. It's needy and wanting and desperate. Demanding absolution.

For a moment, Bruce's tongue distracts Dick from the hand that's traveling down his back. But when it cups his ass, he can't help himself anymore. He moans, grinding against Bruce's thigh, cock ridiculously hard and throbbing. He's forgotten that his ass has been exposed since his unsuccessful attempt at freeing his cock from its confines. So now he does what he should have done a while ago: he peels out his aching erection and pushes his uniform to his knees.

Dick is barely able to stop kissing Bruce, obsessed as he is with his tongue sliding against his own, his stubble rubbing his lips raw, and the moans that slip out unchecked between breaths. But Bruce's hands gripping the flesh of his ass are driving him crazy. He has to break the kiss to coat his fingers in saliva.

Dick knows Bruce's gaze is fixated on his lips and the digits he slips into his mouth, even though he can't see it behind his lenses.

Bruce groans deep in his chest when he understands what Dick is about to do. The rumble resonates inside Dick and his ass clenches in response. He tries to resume kissing Bruce, but as soon as he preps himself, his mouth grows slack and loses its basic motor function. The mere idea of Bruce inside of him has him clinging to Bruce's neck and panting helplessly against his chest.

Dick's preparation is more perfunctory than anything, because he can't wait. It's impossible. He's waited too long already.

Any longer, and he fears Bruce might sober up and no longer want this. So he molds his back against Bruce's front as he slides his ass against Bruce's cock, in a sort of an enactment of his limousine fantasy.

Just like in his fantasy, Bruce grabs his hips and grinds his hard length between Dick's ass cheeks. Dick mewls.

If Dick were still capable of rational thought he might think what they're about to do is ill-advised. What they're already doing. But since he's not thinking, and since this revelation would have been more than a few minutes too late, stopping now would be as disastrous as continuing. There's nothing else to do than to enjoy it.

Dick positions himself over Bruce's cock, rubbing the leaking tip against his hole. It's more difficult to relax like this than he thought, but when Bruce breathes his name against his neck, Dick turns to jelly and Bruce's cock slides inside.

Dick's breath escapes his lungs in one sharp exhale. It hurts more than he'd expected. Then again, he's never dry-fucked anyone. Only his fingers on very desperate and frustrated early mornings. But Bruce has some girth on his fingers and already fills Dick so deep even though he's not fully sheathed yet.

Focusing on his breathing, Dick grits his teeth and keeps going, keeps moving his hips minutely to get used to the stretch. The pain is a fitting punishment for being a selfish jerk and ruining their relationship for nothing more than a night of no regrets.

Dick cries out as he forces himself down as far as a quick shove would allow. Bruce grunts. This can't be enjoyable for him either.

Dick is almost certain Bruce has something that might function as lube within easy reach but chooses the discomfort instead. It might not be conscious, but on some level he must resent Dick for this transgression. And himself, for giving into it.

Any and all second-guessing vanishes in a cloud of smoke as he bears down further and Bruce's cock brushes over Dick's prostate. Dick is seeing stars.

The constant pressure inside of him sends sparks of pleasure to his own cock which is dripping with precum. His hand quickly becomes slippery as he strokes himself. It takes his mind of the burning sensation in his backside that slowly seem to ease.

Dick is so hot under his uniform, sweat running down his brow and cheeks, but he feels too good to stop now and get rid of the tight, clinging fabric.

Part of him wishes they'd taken the time to slink past Alfred's watchful eye and into Bruce's master suite. He suspects Bruce to have a full bottle of lube and an assortment of toys in his bedside drawer that they could have used. It could have been so nice, with them taking their time and making love all through the night.

Dick has dreamed of riding Bruce into oblivion on his four-poster bed more times than he can count, and it's always been sweet even when it was desperate and their bodies never had enough of each other. Dick has imagined them falling asleep together, still entangled, and picking up where they left off the moment they'd wake up, drunk on desire and the feel of each other.

Dick has had a lot of fantasies, from being nothing more than Bruce's fucktoy he uses to rid himself of the adrenaline that built up during patrol, to being his significant other, both in uniform and out, presented openly at gatherings of the costumed crowd and polite society alike.

He knows it's wrong, that it's juvenile wish fulfillment with no bearing on reality. Except, if it had no bearing at all, he probably wouldn't be fucking Bruce in the Batcave to make him feel better.

Framed like that, it sounds a lot more self-sacrificing than it actually is.

Here's he catch: Bruce would never take him in the same space he'd shared with Selina for so long. His bedroom is untouchable, if only because he wants to preserve the intimacy they'd built, just like he wanted to preserve the last remnant of Jason's innocence by encasing his Robin uniform in glass.

It's a wish to stop time in its tracks, to rewind, to make everything whole again.

Dick will surely relate tomorrow, once he's had time to cool down and look back on his mistake.

For now, neither he nor Bruce want to think too closely about the present and the pain that's lurking there. Bruce does, however, want to ground Dick back into an awareness of his body, which he does by pulling Dick's hips against his own hard and fast.

Dick yelps, startled by the sudden flare of pain-pleasure in his gut. His spine is arched, the back of his head touching Bruce's shoulder but not resting on it.

He shudders when Bruce's palm slides over his chest. He shudders again when Bruce guides him to the floor, supporting his weight until Dick can brace himself on his elbows and knees.

It feels dirty, exposing himself to Bruce like this.

It feels glorious.

All he wants is for Bruce to use him like the slut he is, to make him forget his own name, to make them both forget why fucking each other seemed like a good idea at the time.

Dick gets his wish because the moment Bruce settles in at his back, he starts fucking into Dick like it's going out of style. Tears prick behind Dick's eyes and if he could have cried, he would have, but he's too paralyzed for an emotional response like this. He's panting, open-mouthed, with his tongue sticking out, as if hoping for another taste of Bruce.

Bruce is driving himself into his ass at a relentless pace and Dick _hurts_ because of it, but at the same time, he's never felt better, or more loved, even if it's just his body's way of telling him to shut up, let this happen, and enjoy it while it lasts.

Despite the pain, despite the discomfort, he feels something build up inside of him. The thought of _Bruce_ doing this to him, of Bruce _wanting_ to do this to him, however intoxicated or impaired his judgment might be right this second, is enough to drive Dick insane.

He meets Bruce thrust for thrust and gets off on the stabs that result deep in his gut. They remind him that he shouldn't enjoy this as much as he does. But Dick is a sucker for punishment, especially if Bruce is the one dishing it out.

Dick's moans are becoming high-pitched and needy. He's ready to burst. His cock is dripping like a broken faucet onto the floor beneath him and he shifts his weight onto one arm so he can touch himself with the other.

His ass clenches as he jerks into his fist, and it makes Bruce feel so much bigger inside of him.

Bruce groans and snaps his hips forward harder, driving himself deeper into Dick. He's so close, tension coiling in his balls, and he surrenders to that feeling, to Bruce's cock hammering against his prostate over and over. 

Dick surrenders, going cross-eyed as Bruce fucks him through his orgasm, making it last longer than Dick thought humanly possible. He comes pulse after pulse with every thrust until his balls are aching and empty.

His spine is still quivering as his upper body slumps to the floor. With a drawn-out grunt, Bruce pulls Dick's ass flush against him one last time and comes inside Dick.

For long seconds, neither of them move. Their breath is the only thing that stirs the silence settling around them. Dick becomes aware of growing cold, of drooling on the floor, of feeling high but losing altitude.

Tears prick his eyes again when Bruce pulls out, less from any residual pain than from the emotional upheaval that's making itself known.

How could he have been so stupid as to let this happen?

He swallows audibly, searching his brain for something to say. To reassure Bruce that this doesn't have to ruin their friendship.

To reassure himself that he'd made, if not the right choice, at least not one that turned out to be catastrophic either. Because his feelings for Bruce are still there, and they're still genuine, even if they're not advisable.

Dick has an image of himself rolling onto his back casually and cracking a joke about what just happened, as if it were no big deal to him to have slept with his best friend and father figure, so it need not be one to Bruce either. He discards it as irreverent the moment he thinks of it, because despite the nonchalance he wants to display, this still _is_ a big deal to him. He just doesn't want Bruce to think that anything has to come of it.

If Dick had his way, they'd treat this as a one-time thing, a momentary lapse of judgment, and move on. (No, actually, if Dick had his way, Bruce would profess his undying love to him right here, but yeah, neither of that is likely going to happen. Bruce is as good at grand emotional gestures as he is at moving on.)

There's a rustle of fabric behind him and the soft tread of boots receding. So Bruce wants to leave without a confrontation? Dick lets him. He's not sure he's up for one. Not yet. He wants to give Bruce a few moments to himself. He also wants a few moments more to bask in the afterglow before it crashes.

Then he'll wash up, take off his mask, and face Bruce openly and honestly. At this point, he has nothing to hide from him anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Stardust" by IAMX.
> 
>  
> 
> [Reblog here.](https://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/post/178631050438/fic-deepthroating-brudick)


End file.
